but his blood was still hot--he would abide no reason--he could only
swear of the revenge he would inflict upon Winlaw. This led to some
remonstrance on my part, for Bradley was to blame in the dispute; till,
from less to more, we both grew fierce, and he struck me such a blow
in the face, that my bayonet leaped into his heart.

My passion was in the same moment quenched. I saw him dead at my feet--I
heard footsteps approaching--I fled towards my father's house--the door
was left unbolted for me--I crept softly, but in a flutter, to bed--but
I could not sleep. I was stunned;--a fearful consternation was upon
me;--a hurry was in my brain--my mind was fire. I could not believe
that I had killed Bradley. I thought it was the nightmare which had so
poisoned my sleep. My tongue became as parched as charcoal: had I been
choking with ashes, my throat could not have been filled with more
horrible thirst. I breathed as if I were suffocating with the dry dust
into which the dead are changed.

After a time, that fit of burning agony went off;--tears came into my
eyes;--my nature was softened. I thought of Bradley when we were boys,
and of the summer days we had spent together. I never owed him a
grudge--his blow was occasioned by the liquor--a freer heart than his,
mercy never opened; and I wept like a maiden.

The day at last began to dawn. I had thrown myself on the bed without
undressing, and I started up involuntarily, and moved hastily--I should
rather say instinctively--towards the door. My father heard the stir,
and inquired wherefore I was departing so early. I begged him not
to be disturbed; my voice was troubled, and he spoke to me kindly and
encouragingly, exhorting me to eschew riotous companions. I could make
no reply--indeed I heard no more--there was a blank between his blessing